


These Blades Will Not Tarnish

by The_Exile



Category: Original Work
Genre: Duelling, F/M, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Married Couple, Mild Kink, Older Characters, Politics, Rituals, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Exile/pseuds/The_Exile
Summary: After the war, they found each other again and married despite the complications of coming from previously warring nations. Now retired, they still train hard, as the way of the sword is life to both of them. They resolve most matters with duels. Only twice has an issue come up that stopped them from partaking of their daily ritual.





	These Blades Will Not Tarnish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



When they had time - which was most days now that they had both retired from active service - they settled everything with a sword duel. Who would do the laundry, wash the dishes, feed the cat. Whether they should get a new cat or not. Who would be on top tonight. It was the highlight of their day.

Unless it was a particularly important decision or they hadn't had a serious practice in a while or they felt kinky, it was with practice wooden swords and it was to first contact only. It was the most important fixture of their daily routine, a ritual increasingly layered in meaning for them as a couple. Of course, training was itself important, even sacred. Neither of them planned to ever put down their swords for good so they needed to work hard to stay fresh, even more so than ever now that they were feeling the effects of age. Besides, it was a good way to tell if something was wrong with either of them. By now their dance had become so synchronised that they could tell exactly what was the problem, even if it was complicated and psychological, if one of their sword forms was slightly off. 

And she had to admit she quite liked seeing him sweaty. Something about their graceful dance, how fluidly they moved, how completely they had begun to compliment each other's styles, her blade swifter and his heavier, excited her more than anything they might do afterwards. 

It had never been about one actually having power over the other, except as a game to excite them - he had a rather obvious fetish about defeat and subsequent humiliation or subservience that drove her crazy sometimes, romantic though it was - she still did not quite trust him not to deliberately hold back. When they were actually being serious, they were each other's equal in almost every aspect, so it really only came down to who wanted the outcome of their duel the most, how much passion they could channel into their battle auras. Neither of them were the type to want something for the sake of having it, or for winning, or for feeling any kind of superiority, so it was a good measure of who actually needed it the most.

She could only remember two events where a duel hadn't decided the matter between them.

The first was when he had gotten too sick to leave his bed, never mind duel her. He had the constitution of an ox, even now that his close-cropped hair was turning from brown to silver, so it had taken an unusually virulent strain of flu to have any effect on him. She didn't like having an unfair advantage over him so she felt reluctant to even train on her own while he couldn't keep up - no matter how much he protested that she was being childish and ridiculous and they both knew that she was slightly ahead out of the two of them anyway (this had prompted a rather lengthy and heated debate). Instead, she agreed to help him with the theory. She started out looking at some of the more esoteric aspects of their discipline, the meditations they needed to keep their minds in the state of calm balance they needed to truly be alert in battle, then became fascinated with the history of each of their particular schools of swordsmanship, the ancient myths and lore of their founding ancestors. Then it had occurred to him that he hadn't looked at a newspaper for a while, being mostly disgusted with the outside world after a lifetime of being drafted into this and that war, especially at the fact that, despite these wars being over, his wife was still treated as an outcast for being a foreigner. 

These days, the papers were dominated by rifles and explosives, steam tanks and battle automata. Someone had developed a flying tank and now everyone was desperately trying to get in on the new field of aerial warfare before they were put at a disadvantage. It was the same old story, he observed, except that it was getting worse, the methods using up more resources and causing more destruction. 

"They have the cheek to say my style is outdated," he complained, breaking out into a cough, "But all they can come up with is the same thing but bigger and more complicated. And when the mines run out of iron to build those things, coal to fuel them, my sword will still be unbroken, still as sharp as..."

"Stop winding yourself up, you're supposed to be resting," she snapped, forcing a cup of herbal tea into his hands, "You can't stop the clock, dear. There were more primitive weapons than ours, before our blacksmiths managed to forge a decent sword."

"I only meant that you'd think they'd hurry up and invent peace one day."

"Oh, I think that'll take a very long time, dearest. I'm not sure we'll even still be human."

"That's why I was thinking I need to keep an eye on things a little more. I had no idea they were this close to another major war. I still have contacts in high places, I could even sign up as an advisor..."

"Are you trying to leave me here? After our vows? When you're too weak to fight me about it?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'll wait until I'm recovered, at least. And I still wouldn't do anything in a hurry. You will always be my first priority from now on, dearest. You know that."

"I do not trust this nation to treat you with the respect you deserve, and not push you into anything," she said bluntly, folding her arms, "And as for my homeland, the place barely exists any more."

"I beg forgiveness if I've brought up painful memories..."

"None that I don't already have every night anyway, and those are demons I can battle only because I am in your arms," she told him, "Why are you putting your cup down? You will drink the entire thing."

"I think the cat has peed in the herb garden again," he wrinkled his nose.

"The cat piss smell means it's strong medicine that'll make you better," she assured him, "Now, if you must strain yourself all the time, you must think of a third way, something we can do together."

"Well, then, sit here and help me plan it together."

She sighed and set the teapot down on the table before sitting down next to him. In the back of her mind, she occupied herself with thoughts of the next time they would be able to duel each other again.


End file.
